style="font-size:15px;"> ‘You really are a perfectionist, aren’t you?’
‘Yes,’ she admitted. ‘Which isn’t always a good thing. It means I’m often disappointed.’
She knew there was a bitter edge to her words but she couldn’t help it. ‘No man is perfect,’ Philippe had shouted at her when she’d refused to take him back that final time. Was it so unreasonable to want a man who wouldn’t cheat and lie? Who could manage to stay faithful?
Another reason to keep Jesse strictly hands-off. He was a player like Philippe. With all the potential for heartbreak that came with that kind of guy.
She forced herself away from old hurts and back to the café.
‘Tell me if you think this is a good idea—I want to ask your mother if she could share some of her favourite recipes from the old guest house. It would be nice to have that link to the Morgans in the café menu.’
Morgan’s Guest House had been such a wonderful place, especially for a girl interested in cooking. Maura was an exceptional home-style cook.
Jesse paused for a long moment before he replied. She wondered if it had been a bad idea. She let out her breath when he answered, not realising she had been holding it. ‘It’s a great idea,’ he said slowly. ‘I’m sure Mum would be flattered. I’d certainly like it.’
‘I’m so glad you think so,’ she said with a rush of relief. ‘I have such happy memories of helping Maura cook in the kitchen. She taught me to make perfect scrambled eggs. I’ve never found a better technique than hers.’
‘When my mother heard you’d become a chef she was tickled pink that she might have had an influence on you.’
‘I’m glad to hear that, because she was a big influence. My own mother encouraged me too.’
‘And your father?’
She looked away from the car so she didn’t have to face him. ‘You’ve probably heard something from Sandy about what my father was like,’ she said stiffly.
‘Ben said Dr Randall Adam was an officious, domineering snob who—’
Lizzie put up her hand to halt him. ‘Don’t say it. After all he’s done, he’s still my father.’
‘Sure,’ he said, and she felt embarrassed at the sympathy in his voice. She didn’t want him to feel sorry for her.
She scuffed at the ground near the back tyres of the car with the toe of her sneaker. ‘Shall we say, he was less than encouraging when I didn’t want to follow the academic path he’d mapped out for me. I wasn’t the honours student Sandy was but he didn’t get that. He wanted me to go to university. When I landed an apprenticeship at one of the most highly regarded restaurants in Sydney he didn’t appreciate what a coup that was. He...well, he pretty much disowned me.’
Under threat of being kicked out of home without a cent to support her if she didn’t complete her schooling, she’d finished high school. But the kitchen jobs she’d worked during her vacations had only reinforced her desire to become a chef. When she’d got the apprenticeship at the age of seventeen her father had carried out his threat and booted her out of home. It had backfired on him, though. Her mother had finally had enough of his bullying and infidelities. He went. Lizzie stayed. It was a triumph for her but one she hadn’t relished—she’d adored her father and had been heartbroken.
Jesse shook his head in obvious disbelief. ‘Isn’t he proud of what you’ve achieved now?’
It was an effort to keep her voice steady. ‘He sees being a chef as a trade rather than a profession. I...I think he’s ashamed of me.’ She shrugged. ‘That’s his problem, isn’t it?’
‘And not one you want to talk about, right?’ Jesse said, his blue eyes shrewd in their assessment of her mood.
She had to fight an urge to throw herself into his arms and feel them around her in a big comforting hug. At Sandy’s wedding ceremony she’d sobbed, not just with joy for her sister but for the loss of her own marriage and her own dreams of happiness. Jesse had silently held her and let her tears wet his linen shirt. She could never forget how it had felt to rest against his broad, powerful chest and feel his warmth and strength for just the few moments she had allowed herself the luxury. It had meant nothing.
‘That’s right,’ she said. Then gave a big sigh. ‘I won’t say it doesn’t still hurt. But I’m a big girl now with a child of my own to raise.’
‘And you’re sure as heck not going to raise her like you were raised,’ he said.
‘You’re sure right on that,’ she said with a shaky laugh.
‘I was so lucky with my parents,’ said Jesse. ‘They’re really good people who love Ben and me unconditionally. I didn’t know what a gift that was until I grew up.’
‘Looking back, I realise how kind Maura was,’ Lizzie said. ‘She must have found me a terrible nuisance, always underfoot. But there was so much tension between my parents, I wanted to avoid them. And Sandy was always off with Ben.’
‘Of course she wouldn’t have found you a nuisance,’ said Jesse. ‘Out of all the guests she had over the years, Mum always remembered you and Sandy. I think she’d love to share her recipes with you. Maybe...maybe it’s time to revive some happy memories of the guest house.’
They both fell silent. Ben’s first wife and baby son had died when the old guest house had burned down. That meant Jesse had lost his sister-in-law and nephew. She wondered how the tragedy had affected him. But it wasn’t the kind of thing she felt she could ask. Not now. Maybe never.
‘Can you ask about the recipes for me?’ she said.
‘Sure. Though I’m sure Mum would love it if you called her and asked her yourself.’
‘I just might do that.’
Jesse glanced at his watch.
‘I know, the two hours,’ she said, resisting the urge to ask him just what catastrophe would befall him if he spent longer than that in her company. ‘We’d better hurry up and get back in the car.’ She walked around to the passenger side, settled into her seat and clicked in her seat belt. ‘We’re heading for a dairy next, right?’
‘Correct,’ said Jesse from the driver’s seat. ‘The farmer and his wife are old schoolfriends of mine. I hear they’ve won swags of awards for their cheeses and yogurts. I thought that might interest you.’
She turned to look at him, teasing. ‘How do you know exactly what I need, Jesse Morgan?’
He held her gaze with a quizzical look of his own. ‘Do I?’ he said in that deep voice that sent a shiver of awareness down her spine.
Shocked at her reaction, she rapidly back-pedalled. ‘In terms of supplies for the café, I meant.’
His dark brows drew together. ‘Of course you did,’ he said. ‘What else would you have meant?’
She kept her gaze straight ahead and didn’t answer.
